


The Theft of Winter

by Queen_Of_Kylux (A_Queer_In_Spaceland)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Autumn court, Backgroung Victuuri is canon levels of disgusting for Yurio, Damsel in distress but more badass, Everyone Is Gay, Everyone calls him Yura or Yuratchka because I love my Kotyonok's russian nickname, Fae Wars...sort of, Fae politics, Faerie AU, Fantasy AU, Friends to Lovers, Hero saves the Princess Cliche but gay, Honestly literally just JJ is straight...sort of, I lied everyone is pan, I'm having waaaay too much fun with this, JJ gets his maple leaf ass kicked, JJ is an asshole but I still love him, Kidnapping!, King of Autumn Jean-Jacques Leroy, King of Winter Victor Nikiforov, Knight AU, Love is Lovely and Yuri Hates It, M/M, My sweet children being sweet, Oblivious Yurio, Otabek gets his ass surprised, Put Yuri Plisetky in a Dress 2k16, Respectfully pining Otabek, So Cynical for a youngling, Technically a soulmate AU, Winter Court, Winter Fae Knight Otabek Altin, Winter Fae Prince Yuri Plisetsky, Yakov is so done he literally ran off to hide in the mountians, Yurio gets his ass saved, Yurio in pretty dresses, the Fae Au nobody asked for that I couldn't resist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2018-09-10 17:45:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8926432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Queer_In_Spaceland/pseuds/Queen_Of_Kylux
Summary: There is a place far away, where Winter and Summer are eternal. Where Fae war and love in equal measure and sometimes simultaneously. This land is filled with tales, old and new, of varyingly truth and notoriety. The most beloved tale is also the most true. A tale of a Winter Prince who knew not of love and the Knight who taught him...Note: Discontinued





	1. A Bond Unbreakable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Victuuri steal the show, making eternal drama queen Yura barf while Otabek is just plain SHOOK.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I intended this to be a cute one-shot but now it's evolved into a monster and I'm in love with it. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do! Please forgive my prose, I have a habit of waxing poetic. *shrug*

In the depths of the woods, in a land untouched by humanity lie the Lands of the Fae, and their Courts. In the centre of these four realms is a lake, known as the Lake of Sorrows. It’s said that upon the loss of his beloved sister, The Goddess of Day, the heartbroken God of Night wept for a century. His grief flowed across the lands, pooling at his feet and branching into four mighty rivers, bisecting the land into four kingdoms. As their lands were drowned along with their people the Fae embarked on a desperate quest to pull the God of Night from his anguish. The tale of this quest is lost to time, but the end of the Night God’s grief is still celebrated to this day in all four of the Fae Courts.

To the East of the Lake lies a land of sloping grasslands and meandering streams, the Spring Court. Ruled by a man of flittering attention but sharp wit the Spring Court is a land of forever blossoms and infinite music.

To the West of the Lake lies a land of fire blackened bark, crumbling leaves and vibrant foliage, the Autumn Court. A King of renown and sensationalism resides in this land of beautiful decay and crackling flame.

To the South of the Lake lies a land of glowing sun and lashing rain, the Summer Court. Governed by a young King of art and exuberance the monsoonal heat and lush greenery of the Summer Court is highly revered.

To the North of the Lake is where our tale begins, in a land of pale sunlight and frosted earth, the Winter Court. Lead by their predictably unpredictable King Viktor Nikiforov, the Fae within this realm where trees bend under the weight of permanent snowfall and frozen rivers trickle into stillness, were well into their celebrations for the Festival of Joyful Night.

Fae from all over the expansive and mountainous Court and some from outside Courts, had converged on the capital of Moscow. Fae Lords angling to usurp the current Crown Prince, Yuri Plisetsky were commonly seen fluttering around the King. To the aforementioned Crown Prince’s displeasure, his mood sullen for most of the all-night festival by result.

Unfortunately, it was not the ambitious lords who suffered Yuri’s ire, no that responsibility fell to the Prince’s long term vassal, and perhaps his sole friend; Otabek Atlin, a Knight from a province to the southwest known as Almaty.

“Stupid moths,” Yuri spat, glaring at the throne with his gossamer and jewel clothed arms crossed over his chest. Otabek hummed his agreement as good friends do when one rants as Yuri had been for a majority of the celebration. In the flickering firelight and gentle moonlight the white gems dripping from the Prince’s grey gown shone. The most eyes catching of the jewels were utilized in the whirling patterns starting along his chest and flaring out from his shoulders before flowing down the cape of transparent fabric that hung down to the snow-covered ground. He was resplendent. A shimmering prince deserving of the spotlight, but willfully cloaked in darkness. Shadows cast by the towering pines and birches surrounding the festival clearing provided ample room to hide. The fringes of the winter woods provided much needed privacy.

“I can’t wait to see their faces at my coronation,” Yuri sneered, glee gleaming dully in his sea glass eyes.

“You will have to wait Yura,” Otabek murmured, all too aware of what could happen when Yuri got that maliciously look. The debacle from their younger years flashed in Otabek’s mind. The Knight suppressed a shiver.

“Hmpf, I wouldn’t if Vitya would just hurry up and abdicate! He’s like five hundred years old already!” Yuri replied his arms leaving trails of glittering light as he widely waved them about to illustrate his point. A faint but fond smile graced the somber Knight’s lips as he observed the Prince.

“Five hundred is barely middle aged Yura. King Yakov was seven hundred when he finally gave the throne to Viktor who is only in his early three hundreds,” Otabek stated, the faint curling of his lips turning to a half smile as he continued, “Perhaps you’ll finally be as tall as me by the time you get your crown little Yuratchka.”

The slight of the lords was forgotten as Yuri turned to look at Otabek. The annoyance initially creasing his brow fading as he noticed the teasing smile on his friend’s face. Turquoise eyes sparking with his affection Yuri softly shoved Otabek’s shoulder.

“I’ll be taller.” Yuri affirmed.

“We’ll see little Yuratchka, we’ll see.” Was Otabek’s reply. Yuri pulled a face at the nickname.

“Always with ‘little’! I’m barely younger than you, my hundredth name-day was last month anyway, I’m an adult now Beka,” Yuri argued, sounding very much not like an adult as he dismissively waved his hand and crossed his arms.

Otabek smiled softly before replying; “Even if you surpass me in height and title, you’ll always be little Yuratchka, the tiny Fae lordling with his oversized sword glaring at me like a soldier.”

Yuri sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes at his friend’s words. However, a warm smile accompanied his response; “You always bring that up.”

“Pity you don’t remember it,” Otabek smiled.

“It’s hardly my fault Mila whacked me hard enough to rattle my brain!” Yuri cried in superficial indignation.

“She was rather talented with that sword, shame she went into diplomacy,” Otabek mused.

“If by talented you mean dangerous,” Yuri grumbled.

“It is a _sword_ Yura.”

“I know that!” Yuri growled glaring at the smiling Otabek.

“Are you ever planning on taking swordsmanship up again?” Otabek asked, his left hand fingering the hilt of one of the duel shashkas strapped to his waist, his eyes skimming the distant crowd and silent forest warily.

“Why would I? There’s no need,” Yuri replied pointing at where Otabek’s skilled hand rested on the sword’s hilt.

“Yura, I won’t always be here to protect you,” Otabek cautioned, his coal eyes darker from the quiet shadows surrounding them and the gravity of his words.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’ll always be with me Beka,” Yura declared with casual finality. Yuri leaned his head against the fur-lined shoulder of Otabek’s formal coat as if to end the conversation. Usually the Knight wore studded light armor, perfect for movability in the crowded realm of trees, but the gossamer gowned Prince had stomped into Otabek’s quarters from his neighboring rooms and cajoled the Knight into donning the black coat with its frivolous silver fur trimming that he now found himself in. Otabek had not allowed the Prince to ban his weapons however. The curved sabers strapped to him as always.

Otabek was unsure if it was the light, the dancing flames and soft moonlight reacting strangely, or perhaps something else, but in that moment as he looked down at Yuri, the Knight was in awe. He’d always seen Yuri’s beauty, but until now he’d somehow failed to notice the true extent of his exquisite existence. The Prince’s hair falling to his shoulders, loose and free now lay sprawled across the Knight’s shoulder, glimmering the most spectacular shade of pastel gold Otabek had ever seen. What was once merely a delicate bone structure revealed itself to be a finely carved landscape of sweeping mountains and ravines, perfectly balanced and resplendent. Yuri’s eyes were focused up at the night sky, his gaze often finding the stars, except this time Otabek noticed the swirling vortex of colour in his eyes. What was once a simple blue-green shade revealed itself as a glittering expanse of whirling emerald and sapphire. As if contained within the Fae’s eyes was a sliver of the most glorious dominion in the universe. If you had asked Otabek what perfection was, in that moment he would have wholeheartedly answered Yuri Plisetsky.

Otabek’s eyes widened in surprise, the emotions flooding his mind unfathomable and completely alien. He stood frozen, unwilling and unable to disturb the ethereal creature that had replaced his little Yuratchka. Warmth and wonder bloomed in the Knight. The urge to lightly brush his hand along the sharp angle of this otherworldly being’s cheekbone, to touch them, was almost overwhelming. The desire to be close and never let go coursed through the shell-shocked Knight like a brutal flood. Terrified and simultaneously joyous Otabek was at a loss. Nothing in his short century and three years had prepared him for this onslaught of emotion, of passion, of gentle admiration and devastating affection. It was unlike anything he’d ever heard of, except perhaps a- _No. It couldn’t be?_

Otabek’s eyes widened more. _Surely this couldn’t mean…Yuri was the Prince. His future King. His friend. He could be…He can’t be…then why?_

“They’re soulbonded!” An unfamiliar voice gasped out in shock, the shocked exclamation echoing around the suddenly silenced clearing. Otabek’s head snapped towards the source of the voice, trepidation and exultation thrumming through him in equal measure, his reverent gaze on Yuri broken for the barest of moments.

But the source of the cry, a visiting Lady from the Southern province of Kyushu -her name was Minako if Otabek remembered correctly from their brief interaction- was not looking at him. Her eyes were focused in amazement on the frozen forms of the King and an unfamiliar dark haired Fae Lord.

\-----

“Soulbonded!” Yuri exclaimed before he could stop himself, surging away from the still frozen Otabek toward the centre of the clearing. He stomped up the dais steps, his angry footfalls on the ice structure causing the shimmering fabric swirling around his ankles to flare outwards violently. “Vitya! Explain!” Yuri demanded in a harsh whisper, coming to a halt before the pair of Fae simply staring at one another.

“Yuratchka, this is Yuuri,” Viktor said, his voice awed and his ice blue eyes locked on the warm brown eyes of the Fae Lord. Yuri levelled a scathing look at his King that expressed may things, most of which are unsuitable to repeat.

“Vitya-,” Yuri growled out, a polite façade descending over his features despite his frustration. The urgent danger of their situation pressing into the forefront of the young Fae’s mind, replacing his annoyance.

“You’re my soulbonded.” Victor interrupted, awed by the Fae Lord before him. If possible the Fae Lord managed to widen his eyes more. Overcome and utterly blindsided the pair were soft spoken as they exchanged words.

“You’re my soulbonded.” The dark haired Yuuri breathed, disbelief colouring his words in place of the euphoria in Viktor’s.

The utter adoration shining from both of them made Yuri’s stomach turn.

“Our entire Court and the Autumn lords are watching you two,” Yuri hissed through a fake smile as he tried to downplay the intensely personal moment unfolding before an extremely public audience. His attempt at waving off the complete devotion, _the weakness_ , written all over his King’s face was highly unsuccessful. Viktor was making them look weak. Yuri could have run the King through with Otabek’s sabre, he knew firsthand how ruthless their brethren were, especially those Autumn Court bastards staring straight that them. He could feel their nimble minds begging to plot against his Court. This was bad.

\-----

The Prince’s words failed to register in the King’s mind, his thoughts preoccupied by the pure perfection of Yuuri’s lips. He was in the middle of deciding to kiss him when a sharp elbow speared him in the ribs. The unexpected pain cleared his head long enough for the panicked and frustrated mutterings of his heir to register in his mind. “-are you insane! Cut it out, they’re watching. Those vultures are going to use this against us if you don’t get a grip you insufferable idiot-”

“A toast!” Viktor said, his centuries of experience with the snakepit that is the Fae Courts giving him guidance. Yuri practically sighed in relief as the atmosphere changed. Wary suspense giving way to celebration. Goblets and dainty flutes rose in the air as Viktor entwined his hand with Yuuri. A show of solidarity, possession but also comfort if the subtle shaking of the Fae Lord’s hands was an indication of his mind-state.

“To good health for both you and your soulbonded!” Yuri called raising the first glass he’d touched all night, hastily shoved into his hands by an observant servant.

“To the King! To Winter!” Came the response.

The King and his Heir shared a look. _You had to pick today_. Yuri’s incredulous eyes said. A subtle shrug of Viktor’s shoulder replied. _I don’t do things by halves_. A half roll of Yuri’s eyes told the King just what his Crown Prince thought of him.

\-----

Yuri was glorious. A whirlwind of beauty fluttering from one end of the clearing to the next. Destroying rumors. Reinforcing the Crown’s strength. He navigated the treacherous waters of Fae politics with ease and grace, not from experience but talent. Otabek couldn’t resist allowing the soft smile to split his face as he watched his Prince at work. Seeing the vengeful and exuberant boy he’d known since childhood turn into a creature of poise and temperance was always a shock to him, but over the years the Knight had grown to appreciate this veneer of civility Yuri had constructed. It at least kept him from getting into as many fights.

The Knight smiled wider as he watched Yuri subtly smash his sharp elbow into his King’s ribs and hiss out a command for the second time that night, all the while holding a polite conversation with the dark-haired Fae linked to the King. Pride filled him, only growing stronger as he saw the pained flash in Viktor’s eyes. He may be useless with a sword, but Yuri Plisetsky was brutal in a brawl.

The several times Yuri had caught Otabek’s eye had sent jolts through him sending him spiraling once more into the pit of his thoughts. Otabek was helplessly drowning in the pure emotion that swamped him. Confusion ran through his mind, doubt conflicting with hope and fear following each thought.

Otabek froze as Yuri’s gaze held him. A proper smile graced the Prince’s lips as he made his way through the crowds surrounding him. Otabek’s mind stilled.

He was beautiful. An ethereal creature too glorious for his hands to touch though they longed to. A stunning dancer twirling through the fatal game of intrigue. A commanding solider made of steel. A future King unbent by the weight of his crown.

The Knight’s mind finally settled. His path at last clear.

As his prince returned to his side, the Knight made a vow. A vow to protect, to serve and to forget whatever madness sung in his blood. Yuri levelled a blazing smile at the Knight and Otabek realized something earth-shattering:

Not loving Yuri Plisetsky would be the hardest thing he’s ever attempted.

\-----

“They’re idiots” Yuri remarked. His head comfortably nestled on his Knight’s shoulder, fatigue and familiarity stripping him of any form of façade in the privacy of the forest shadows.

“The way they look at each other, it’s very soft and kind. I’ve never seen Victor look like that,” Otabek observed, his voice quiet and contemplative.

“It’s because his brain melted out of his ears. Doesn’t he see how weak his distraction makes us look?” Yuri muttered to himself as well as his Knight.

“I think would be nice, to feel that love,” Otabek murmured softly, as if hoping it would go unnoticed by the Prince’s sharp ears.

“What?!” Yuri said, tearing his attention from the spectacle happening in the centre of the tree ringed winter lake to stare at his companion. Yuri started in surprise as he took in the gentleness of Otabek’s expression. Gone was the harsh severity of his usual visage. Replaced by a wistful sadness as his coal eyes fell on Viktor and Yuuri twirling around the frosted earth together.

“They’re soulbonded. I expect their love is a joyous thing to be blessed with,” Otabek said, his eyes not leaving the circling figures, longing etched into every muscle. Yuri followed his gaze only for frustration to billow back to life within the prince, his eyes noting the predatory stance of the Autumn Court Lords.

“Love is irrelevant, they’ll bring war to Winter at this rate. That moth in the Autumn Court has been eyeing our south-western lands ever since he came to the throne,” Yuri growled ominously, his anger leaving no room to contemplate Otabek’s strangeness. With Yuri’s narrowed stare fixed on the travesty unfolding before him and his thoughts filled with plans against the inevitable skirmishes along the border the Prince failed to notice the look in Otabek’s eyes. If Yuri had been paying attention, he would have seen his quiet pain, his resigned longing and the fresh promise already broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this first chapter! I'd love to hear any speculation you guys have, my tumblr is 'a-queer-in-spaceland' so hit me up if you wanna scream about this anime (or actual figure skating tbh cuz I love this sport). I'll see you for chapter two before the new year! If you can guess who the Kings of the other Courts are I'll give you a imaginary cake!
> 
> P.S Yuri and Otabek are roughly the Fae equivalent of 17 and 19. 100 is basically the coming of age birthday and after a century the aging slows down really quickly.


	2. Specters of the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which poor Otabek has too many feelings and Yura gets a tragic backstory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank everyone who left a comment on my first chapter, they were all lovely to read and I can't thank you enough. I apologise for this taking so long but it's likely to happen again. I actually intended for this to have some more plot in this but I kinda spent the whole time just spewing fluff and a little angst as I developed my children’s relationship…all well, enjoy anyway. 
> 
> Note: Dedka is a shortening of the Russian word for grandfather (dedushka) it’s sort of the equivalent of saying ‘grandpa’. Also ‘Vambraces” = Arm guards “Spaulders” = Shoulder plates and a “Shashka” = my favourite sword, it’s a Russian sabre and has a 10/10 history, not usually duel wielded but it’s my world and I do what I want. Google image these and you’ll get some pretty cool examples.

The darkness was absolute, thick and viscous, pierced by nothing. Sharp panicked breaths stuttered in and out of his lungs each one searing and painful. Fear laced his blood and propelled his heart into a staccato thundering. His small frame heaving and coughing as it tried to suck in precious air, only to be met with clouds of arid heat and stabbing ash.

“DEDKA!” The small boy cried, his voice horse and weak from repeated pleas and the stinging black cloud smothering him. Tears streamed down his face, dislodging the fine coating of soot but also allowing ash to clump together. “DEDKA!” He cried again.

His grandfather did not reply. His family did not come.

Again, and again the boy cried, pleaded for help as racking coughs were forced from his tiny frame. He thrashed and fought, desperate to be free of the smoldering wooden beam pinning him to the floor of his tiny cottage. The flames had died, a blast of frosted panic stripping them of life but the ashen cloud and suffocating smoke remained, threatening to snuff out his life as he had the creeping fire. Sobbing filled the gaps between pleas for help and choking gasps. The boy pleaded with the Gods, praying for salvation, for the strength to save himself. He did not expect help to come, a short life of pain stripping him of the belief in gods, but he would not give in. He struggled against the beam, his fight fueled but the steel resolve and thirst for life bursting from his chest.

“No…no…” He wheezed out before his stinging eyes fluttered shut, dislodging tears as they closed. A thunderous crack and an explosion of voices made the boy force his eyes open. A tongue of air bathed his skin, he inhaled it gently. His body sung with the relief of the untainted breath. Through shuttered eyes the boy looked upwards, locking eyes with the moonlight illuminated Fae who had discovered him. A silver halo glimmered around his black hair and piercing ice coal eyes met the boy’s.

“Here!” The Fae shouted, his voice too young.

As the boy’s eyes drifted closed once more, his last thought before darkness pulled him into its embrace was of how his rescuer appeared to be spun from winter. Frosted ice, fresh snow and infinitely slumbering coal black branches given life and tasked with his salvation. _He looks like a Winter King…_

\-----

Yuri jerked into wakefulness, the tang of smoke coating his tongue. His body was rigid in fear as he gulped down lungfuls of the crisp winter air. _You’re safe…You’ll always be safe little one…_ The faded words floated through the panicking Prince’s mind. That voice -familiar but foreign, clear yet oh so blurred- inspired a single-minded clarity, spurring Yuri into action.

His rapid movement was encumbered by the entangling of his willowy limbs in the silken fabrics of his bedsheets. With a frustrated growl and the sound of tearing cloth Yuri found himself free. He quickly scampered across the spacious room, comforted by the chill soaking into his bare feet from the stone floors. Restraining himself the Prince softly opened one of the three doors leading from his bedchamber and silently crept inside.

A cool breeze ran along the Prince’s exposed skin, dancing over his limbs and rustling the loose cotton that hung off his thin frame. Fingers of wind ran through his hair pulling the long strands into the air.

“Idiot,” Yuri murmured fondly as he noticed the pile of snow beside the open window. The slumbering figure stretched out haphazardly within his bed did not wake as the Prince waved the snow away, the frosted element obeying his unspoken command as Yuri padded over to close the window.

The gentle thump of birch wood slotting together in an airtight seal did not wake him, nor did the Prince slotting himself within the Knight’s arms. The sleeping Knight simply curled himself around the invading prince, the habit ingrained from years of sharing a bed. Yuri smiled, comforted by the familiarity of Otabek’s reassuring presence. Even in slumber the Knight had a steadiness to him, a sense that nothing, not the weight of mountains nor power of the sea, could ever wear him away. Otabek felt permanent -Yuri’s drifting mind decided- everlasting and unmovable.

“Goodnight Beka,” Yuri softly slurred against the Knight’s shoulder Otabek’s even breathing lulled him to back to sleep. A delicate warmth spreading from his chest to his fingertips banished half-recalled horrors and oddly poetic thoughts alike and his slumber soon became deep and restful.

\-----

Otabek felt warm. He felt safe. He felt serene, as if in this pre-dawn moment the universe was at peace. However, the serenity shattered once Otabek located the source of this familiar warmth.

The morning fog that clouded his mind moments before evaporated in an instant, his body going taunt and heartbeat flying into a disjointed rhythm. To say he was alarmed would be an understatement. A quiet sigh escaped from the lips of the cause of Otabek’s terror, the Prince curling further into the rigid Knight. The soft vulnerability of Yuri’s relaxed expression was like a soothing balm to the panic struck Otabek, despite the fact that Yuri was the sole reason for said alarm.

Gentle care was etched into every line of the Knight’s face as his breathing began mirroring that of the slumbering Prince. Yuri’s eyelids fluttered minutely and occasionally his otherwise even breath would hitch suddenly.

“Is your dream pleasant Yura?” Otabek murmured quietly, his words lost within the strands of golden hair pressed against his chin. Every inhalation brought with it the fresh scent of frost that clung to the Winter Prince. Yuri’s response was to simply cuddle into his Knight more. Those few moments of fear and panic seemed like distant memories, the vow even more distant.

_We’ve done this each time Yura has a nightmare. This is nothing new. This is harmless._

Had he spoken them aloud Otabek would have seen his justifications for what they were; insubstantial excuses.

A chill tickled the soles of Otabek’s feet. He was confused at first but it didn’t take Otabek long to realise why his generously large covers no longer protected him from the permeant winter chill. Yuri had somehow managed to throw them off the bed, in fact Otabek finally registered the only parts of him being warmed were wherever Yuri was sprawled. Luckily the slim prince had chosen the practically drape himself over the Knight, his head resting on Otabek’s shoulder, their legs entwined and Yuri’s arms sprawled over Otabek’s torso.

This was hardly the first time Otabek had awoken like this. The prince had been sneaking into his chambers and hogging his bed for decades. Unlike the previous times Otabek awoke to find the Prince curled up with him, on this particular morning Otabek was forced to face the reality of his situation. Yuri Plisetsky was his Prince and his friend, but he wanted more.

He wanted to rouse the sleeping prince with a brush of his lips not a bucket of cold water as he often did when Yuri slept late. He wanted to lay here forever, disregard his responsibilities as the highest-ranking Knight in Winter and simply be close to the man he was tasked with protecting. He wanted to be more than Yuri’s friend, more than his Knight Protector and Advisor.

But he couldn’t.

It didn’t matter how lovely he was, how bright his smile, how joyous his laugh. It didn’t matter that his eyes sparked the beautiful but dangerous green of a turbulent sea when angered, that they became the glorious blue hues of the sky when he found a reason to truly smile. It was irrelevant that he lightly gnawed on only his left thumb nail when deep in thought, that since they’d met Otabek’s life had become brighter, more vibrant. None of that mattered.

It didn’t matter because Otabek could never have Yuri.

His body and soul, sword and mind – they’d belonged to the Prince officially since he’d taken his Oaths on Yuri’s hundredth nameday. Unofficially Otabek had been at the younger Fae’s mercy since he’d first levelled those eyes at him, the eyes of a warrior, unbroken and battling on despite the impossible odds of fighting flame.

Yes, Yuri had Otabek, but a Prince, even an adopted one, may have a Knight. A Knight, no matter how renown, could never have a Prince.

Nobility found love within nobility. 

That was how it was. How it would always be.

Otabek could no fight it, but nor could he fight the storm of unspoken emotion raging with him.

\-----

When Yuri woke Otabek has vacated the bed, a bleary-eyed glance around the room informed the sleep addled prince that he had not wandered far.

“Good morning Yura,” Otabek said, lacing up his leather vambraces.

“Hmm,” Yuri responded, yawning and spreading out across Otabek’s bed. The prince revelled in the pleasant pull of his muscles as he languidly stretched. A frown ghosted Otabek’s face as he picked the laced leather strands apart, intent on retying the slightly loose arm guards. He had not survived in the cutthroat realm of the Fae by being lax with his armour.

“Let me,” Yuri said from where he sat with his left leg thrown over the bed and the other tucked up underneath him. A subtle inclination of Otabek’s head beckoned Yuri over. He rose gracefully, as expected, and crossed the four steps separating them.

Slender digits made quick work of the leather ties, pulling the silver etched hard-boiled leather together to from a thin seam along Otabek’s inner arm. The Vambraces wrapped along the entirety of his forearms starting at the wrist, overlapping the fingerless shadowsilk gloves he wore, and extending to just below his elbow -allowing for the vital agility that accompanied wielding the twin blades already strapped to his waist and thighs.

Within moments Yuri has fastened the guards expertly and had moved on to inspect the straps holding his teardrop shaped spaulders in place. Made of hard boiled leather his shoulder plates were covered in the same silver frost flower patterns as his vambraces but in the centre of both was a crest. Contrasted against the dark charcoal of the stained leather the crest it was vivid. A thin hexagonal outline surrounded the image of a frost serpent with its’ tail hooked around its’ neck, fangs bared and wings raised. An impressive image, displayed proudly on banners throughout the palace and on every shield made by its’ armouries.

The Royal Crest of Winter.

However, there was a finial element on the crest so delicately carved on Otabek’s shoulders. A silver flame curled at the base of the serpent, the stylised fire slotted in between the upwards curving of the long extinct beast’s mirrored coils.

The Crest of Yuri Plisetsky, The Prince Crowned in Flame.

There had been a tremendous amount of gossip amongst the Palace, and no doubt the entire Court after Yuri had gifted Otabek this armour during his Oath Ceremony. Knights received the crest of the House they served not the Noble, it was as if Yuri has stamped his claim on him. Otabek may have been a Knight of the Royal House but there was no discussion about which royal he served. Neither Prince or Knight had been bothered by this new turn of the gossip mill, they’d been subjected to its frivolous and frankly perverse scrutiny before, their friendship a surprise and oddity for close to eighty years now.  

Yuri gave a soft hum of approval before tightening the straps on either side of his torso with a little frown. To Otabek’s relief it was only the vambraces and spaulders that were embellished with needless decoration. The Knight was unsure if he could have handled the ostentation of having his breastplate covered in the pointless patterns.

“Is the shadowsilk holding up?” Yuri asked lightly running his fingers over an exposed patch of the black feather-light fabric. Otabek’s response was a simple affirmative sound.

“Good, I can’t have you getting killed because your ridiculous swords don’t allow for proper armour,” Yuri said, still rolling a patch that remained exposed between his fingers.

“Shashkas are mighty weapons,” Otabek replied a hint of a smile quirking his lips, this argument old and fond.

“Hmm, but shields and armour give nervous princes comfort when they send their friends off to battle,” Yuri replied a serious undercurrent to his mocking tone.

“Then be glad you spent an exorbitant amount of money on near impenetrable silk,” Otabek replied picking up a comb from the dresser they stood beside.

“Near impenetrable doesn’t sound that reassuring,” The prince smiled as he moved to seat himself on one of the several lounge chairs that occupied the centre of Otabek’s spartan chambers.

“Nor does the prospect of hauling around a useless piece of wood in place of my blades,” Otabek responded coming to stand behind the seated Prince.

As Yuri had made quick work of Otabek’s armour so to did the Knight expertly wrangle the unruly locks that Yuri refused to cut, no matter how impractical. Otabek rather adored this trivial stubbornness. Although at this point assuming Otabek adored every aspect of Yuri would probably be no too far off the truth. It was truly alarming to the Knight now that he was finally privy to the fact he was vastly more forgiving of Yuri than anyone else.

Untangling the knots that had sprung up between when Yuri had brushed his hair last night and now took longer than expected, but the ritual of the task was calming for both Fae. Once his hair was falling in a glossy curtain to just above his narrow waist Otabek slowly but surely began to pull it back from the Prince’s face. Taking his time to ensure each lock was snugly entwined with its brethren.

Yuri sat quietly throughout whole process, willing to simply let Otabek complete his task in the companionable silence that welled up between them. Days had passed like this when they were younger, time shared together in complete hush but far from void of friendship. Yuri smiled as he thought back to their shared time as children, not yet fully burdened by adulthood but both too serious for the friendships of their classmates.

\-----

A birch tree rose from the frozen earth at the edge of the ring of stones that marked the boarders of the sparring field. It was far from the improvised picnic area used by the majority of the children and beneath its spindly limbs sat an unlikely pair.

One a simple squire from a small province with nothing but the King’s favour and his developing mastery of the twin blades resting beside him. The other a young prince with no family but great power trickling through his veins. Despite this difference, they were near inseparable.

The prince had rushed down from his tutorage in the colossal palace that reached into the crisp blue sky behind them, spiralling towers and bulb tops shimmering gold and vivid blue and red hues. Clothed in elegant pastel purple robes the young prince, no more than fifty and at the cusp of adolescence, was inelegantly sprawled across the fresh snow his hands moving wildly as he empathically described his day.

His companion sat in silence, nodding and quirking his lips in response to the prince’s rambling. Stoic and reserved the boy, barely into his own adolescence, did not smile. Perhaps it was the distance from his home, his trio of younger siblings and his beloved parents that weighed on his soul. He’d been gone for almost a decade, exchanging only handful of letters with his youngest sister in that time. Perhaps he was just naturally expressionless. Either way it was an accomplishment to draw a glimmer of mirth from the budding knight.

An accomplishment that the red-haired Fae approaching the secluded pair sorely wished to claim. The prince quieted as the girl came within earshot, sitting up and narrowing his sea glass eyes at her with suspicion. The subtle upwards lift of Otabek’s lip vanished, settling into a thin line.

“Can I help you?” Yuri asked, the unspoken _‘hag’_ clear in his young but overwhelmingly hostile voice.

“Not at all little prince,” She said taking mocking delight in the affronted look that twisted Yuri’s delicate features. Internally raging the prince didn’t notice the thin sheet of ice that begun stretching out from where his ungloved fingertips brushed the snow. Turning her attention to the squire the girl levelled a blazing smile at him before explaining and then inviting him to her silly little group adventure. Her exact wording was lost on the prince, his mind a frosty torrent of outrage. Unnoticed by all but one the ice had begun spreading, climbing up the white bark of the birch tree and edging along the hem of Otabek’s dark grey tunic.

Concern flashed through Otabek, as he noticed the encroaching frost. Clearly Yuri disliked this idea, his uncontrolled influence over his crown’s dominion manifesting. Otabek recognised that in terms of navigating the world of society Yuri, with his training and noble upbringing, was more knowledgeable. If he disliked something like this, it was probably best if Otabek declined. So, trusting his friend, the future knight declined the invitation, citing his training not blind faith as the reason.

So consumed by his annoyance the prince barely registers his friend’s polite refusal, but the crest fallen expression that flickered across her face did not go unobserved. A triumphant smirk inching along his face.

“I expect you to spar with me to make up for it,” She tells him as she turns to leave, Otabek inclines his head accepting the request. With another ineffectual but dazzling smile, she’s gone.

An odd sense of smug success shoots through the prince as he watches her retreat. Throwing his arms over the taller boy Yuri grins at him, “You have no idea what that was about do you Beka?”

 Otabek’s silent inquiry is met with a grin.

“Mila wanted to spend time with you, as in courting time,” Yuri explained still smirking. Otabek’s eyes widened at he looked at the retreating form of his regular sparring partner. His lips formed a silent ‘o’ and Yuri threw himself back onto the snow, cracking the ice he hadn’t noticed.

\-----

Otabek doesn’t move immediately after he finishes weaving Yuri’s hair together. He’s at loathe to let the last of the strands slide through his hands but he does so, standing in unison with Yuri before the smiling prince tells him to wait for him and scampers through the door connecting their chambers to rifle through his clothing. Normally attendants would take care of the prince’s hair and his wardrobe but Yuri hated dealing with people on a good day, so after one to many servants ran off crying after an encounter with ‘Most-Definitely-Not-A-Morning-Person-Prince-Yuri’ Viktor had decided that if Yuri needed help getting dressed than he could ask the only person he didn’t get into screaming matches with, the Knight who spent all his free-time with Yuri anyway.

Yuri had laughed at that and then moved Otabek from the barracks to the room beside his. The door joining their rooms was a relic from a bygone era where King and Consort didn’t share a bed, technically making Otabek’s chambers the unofficial ‘Consort of the Prince’ chambers.

Otabek shakes his head as he recalls the machinations of the gossip mill after that escapade. It was almost twenty years ago, but still he catches an odd look from other Fae. The biggest gossips in the palace, and perhaps the whole of the Winter Court were the elderly head cooks. The soulbonded pair are eager to ask him each day if he’ll be sharing his noon meal with the prince, to which the usual answer is affirmative as Otabek is assigned to guard the aforementioned prince, and their response is to share a knowing glace with each other and send up their lunches with a small vase of Hyacinth blossoms.  

_“Yura?” Otabek asked, confused. The prince continued to laugh, calming every now and then only to burst into fresh peals of laughter when he looked at the white flowers sitting between him and Otabek. The Knight’s head was tilted to the side; however his confusion did no prevent him from enjoying the sight of Yuri’s mirth. The weight of his crown and the ongoing war had taken its toll on the young Fae’s sense of humour in recent months. Otabek was glad to see him laugh, even if he truly had no idea what was transpiring._

_“I’m sorry,” Yuri said using the back of his violet sleeve to wipe away the tears that welling in his eyes. When he’d calmed enough to explain the joke to Otabek the Knight’s deadpan response of “I’d expect them to have a better understanding of biology” sent the prince back into hysterics._

Otabek smiles at the memory, fondness evident in the soft set to his eyes. That was the day he’d discovered three things; The first was that Yuri Plisetsky knew the meanings behind flowers as a result of his tutelage under Lilia Baranovskaya, the second was that elderly women liked to meddle and the third was that Hyacinths were used to encourage fertility in wedded couples. Perhaps they could sense his love was more than he knew before he had a clue, or perhaps they were merely nosey old women with naught to do but pry into affairs of the crown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know about you but I personally feel sharp jealously and smug ownership every time my ‘friend’ turns down an attractive lady. Nothing gay going on here what are you talking about?
> 
> As always if you think you can predict any plot twist I’ve foreshadowed feel free to message me, because I would absolutely love to hear how your minds interpret my work. You can reach me at my tumblr (a-queer-in-spaceland) or here via the comments section. 
> 
> P.S. The head cooks are the purest elderly lesbian couple you can imagine. They adopt everyone. Viktor loves them and Yuuri is about to become their favourite person ever if I get around to mentioning them again. Although tbh I love these little old ladies so much I may just end up writing a spin-off oneshot about them for my own personal enjoyment.


	3. Chapter 3

Hi everybody!

I have some bad news, I started writing this almost two years ago and since then, I've stopped and started writing it a hundred times. I've kinda lost all inspiration for it an I've decided to formally announce that there will be no update forthcoming in the foreseeable future. Thankyou for all your support and for reading! Unfortunately this is just one of those works that gets left at the creative wayside.


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